In Harm's Way

by Lyn Stone

  “No, I’m just getting the nest ready for Miss Right.”

  She looked around the room as if reassessing it. “Yes, I can visualize some lucky woman filling this house with children for you. Happily-ever-afters do occur occasionally, I guess.”

  “No, darlin’, they don’t just occur,” he said, dropping a spoonful of cornmeal mixture into the oil-coated pan and watching it sizzle. “You have to work at them. Leave nothing to chance.”

  She traced a pattern on the countertop with one finger. “That’s a unique perspective on marriage these days, isn’t it?”

  He slid the spatula underneath the patties one at a time and turned them carefully so that each one browned evenly. “Maybe, but it’s worked for my folks. I expect it will for me.”

  When he looked up and pinned her gaze, she was smiling the saddest smile he had ever seen. “You sound dangerously optimistic.”

  Mitch slid the corn patties onto a paper towel he’d arranged on a plate. “If you don’t expect to be happy and do everything you can to make it happen, you sure as hell won’t be.” He picked up one of the corn cakes and held it out to her. “Here, taste this.”

  She looked at it warily, then pinched off a tiny piece. Her eyes grew round as she chewed. “That…that’s good! It’s really good!”

  He rolled his eyes. “Well, don’t sound so all-fired shocked, will you? Mama was a good teacher.”

  Robin was the pickiest eater he had ever seen, Mitch decided later as he watched her studiously push aside the chunks of potato and every single butter bean in her bowl. Everything with any starch or carbs, she avoided. No wonder she was so thin. She kept taking pinches of the corn bread as if eating it constituted a serious sin she couldn’t resist committing. It tickled him that he could tempt her.

  He would love to tempt her in other, much more intimate ways, but knew he’d better keep his libido in check. If he had ever been this drawn to a course of foolish action, he couldn’t recall it. She was off-limits and that was that.

  When she pushed her plate back and sighed with pleasure, he couldn’t help but stare. Her eyes closed, her head tilted back and her lips stretched into a satisfied smile as she exhaled. God, he almost lost it. She would look just like that when she…

  He shook his head to clear it, firmly dismissing the fantasy she roused. What he needed was a cold shower. An icy shower. Problem was, he didn’t have a shower in the house. Just a couple of antique tubs large enough for two. Damn, he was going to have to do something to get sex off the brain.

  “You want to watch a movie?” he asked, desperate for any kind of distraction. There wasn’t much to do that didn’t involve going out somewhere. Well, there was something, but that was exactly what he was trying to avoid thinking about. “How about Monty Python?” Pure unadulterated silliness was what they needed.

  She made a face. Mitch thought it was cute. Hell, he suspected the worst she ever looked in her life was cute.

  “Okay, Attack of the Killer Tomatoes,” he said. “A true classic.”

  She laughed and stood up. “Let’s see what else you have. Where’s your collection?”

  He pointed to the living room. “Go ahead and choose something. I’ll just stick these dishes in the dishwasher. No, no,” he protested when she began to stack hers. “Just go. I’ll do this.”

  “My, my, Mom did train you well.” She shook her finger at him playfully. “Count yourself lucky I’m not in the market, or you’d be in serious trouble, my man.”

  Then Robin suddenly seemed to realize she’d gotten too familiar. Her sly smile rapidly faltered. She made a wordless little gesture of embarrassment, turned and left the kitchen in a rush.

  What a mass of contradictions she was, Mitch thought as he emptied her unfinished food down the disposal. One minute she was the worldly sophisticate and the next she came off like a kid who hadn’t learned the most basic social graces. The real Robin was somewhere between the two extremes, he knew, but apparently she was out of her element here. With him and with the situation she found herself in. She was uncertain how to play it.

  He wanted to hold her, to reassure her that he wasn’t the enemy. All sexual attraction aside, he wished he could somehow put her at ease and let her know that for him to like her she didn’t have to be any way but the way she was.

  When he finished cleaning up in the kitchen and joined her in the living room, he found her curled in one corner of his over-stuffed sofa watching Casablanca. She was clutching a pillow, her long legs tucked to one side. Her bare feet looked pale, cold.

  “So you went straight for the chick flick,” he said, sounding grumpy as he raked the fringed plaid throw off the back of a chair and tossed it over her legs and feet. “The only one I own. I should’ve known. Like all that mushy stuff, huh?” he asked with a weary sigh.

  Her smile was timid, her gaze still focused on Bogey as she nodded.

  “Okay.” Mitch lounged in the opposite corner of the sofa, already feeling the magnetic pull toward her that was going to devil him for the duration.

  She would stay here tonight, for safety’s sake, and he would sleep on the sofa so he could keep watch.

  First thing in the morning, they would go over to his parents’ house and use Susan’s computer to pull up the info on the CD. But for tonight he simply wanted to forget all about the case. He wanted to watch Robin watch this movie. And he wanted to pretend neither of them had anything more problematic than whether or not to pop popcorn.

  When Bogey finally got to his “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid,” thing, Robin wiped a tear off her cheek, sniffed and stuck it out to the bitter end where the hero walked away. They watched the credits roll in silence.

  “She’s so beautiful, isn’t she?” Robin said of Ingrid Bergman.

  “She’s okay. You ever want to act? You’ve sure got the looks and the presence for it.”

  “Me? Act?” she asked with apparent disbelief.

  But Mitch had seen that telltale flicker in her eyes and guessed that she had given it some thought at one time or another.

  “I’ll bet you’d be great on the big screen. What was it like modeling?” Mitch asked. “Must have been exciting, huh?”

  He smiled at her, encouraging her to talk. She had a hesitant, almost self-deprecating way about her he wouldn’t have expected someone in her profession to have. Former profession, he reminded himself, though he couldn’t imagine she’d quit because she was losing her looks.

  For a full minute she didn’t answer. She sat there looking pensive, gazing across the room at nothing, lost in thought. Then she turned to him, and her eyes met his. “Grueling. Most people don’t realize that it’s very hard work. Long hours, uncomfortable poses. Hot lights and wind machines. Crabby photographers and—”

  “Large paychecks?” he interrupted, teasing her.

  Her sensuous lips twitched. “Yes, there are those.”

  “Seeing your picture everywhere must give you a charge. Seems like every girl’s dream.”

  Her eyes darkened as her long lashes lowered and she glanced away, her slender fingers nervously pleating the edge of the soft wool throw he had draped over her. “More like a nightmare,” she muttered with a halfhearted laugh. She didn’t sound bitter, exactly, just resigned. “I’m glad it’s over. I felt like a reluctant exhibitionist even when the clothes weren’t that revealing. And when they were, I was mortified every minute.”

  “Funny, you don’t strike me as shy,” he commented, though that wasn’t strictly true. His perception of her changed like colors viewed through a prism. One minute she would seem totally on top of things, a real cosmopolitan. The next, she reverted to wariness and uncertainty, an innocent battling the big, bad world. Right now, her weariness was obvious, her guard down, allowing him a glimpse of Robin probably seen by few.

  “Would you like to go to bed, Robin?” he asked.

  Her eyebrows flew up, and she looked mighty offended, though she said nothing.

  Mitch realized the
n what he had said and it made him laugh. “Not with me!” he clarified. “I only meant you should feel free to turn in whenever you feel like it. It has been a busy day, and I’m a little worn-out myself.”

  Relief made her laugh, too. “Oh.” She looked embarrassed. “It’s not that I thought you were really coming on to me, but—”

  “You get that a lot, don’t you? Propositions? Not surprising. A man would have to be blind or dead not to get turned on by how gorgeous you are. Even I…well, we’d better not go there,” he said with a wry twist of his lips. “You’re safe with me.”

  She didn’t look convinced. “Looks aren’t everything, you know. What’s inside a person is much more important,” she stated primly, as if she’d made up the concept all by herself.

  He cocked his head and shook one finger at her. “A hard lesson for guys to learn. Me included, I confess. I bet most people never get past that first impression you make, do they? I promise I’ll look a little deeper, okay? If I forget, you just beat me over the head with your intelligence and your talent and I’ll shape up.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her hands stilled. “Are you patronizing me, Detective?”

  Mitch made a face. “Sounded like that, didn’t it? You’re a beautiful woman, no question about it, Robin. I’d be lying if I denied noticing that.” He looked her straight in the eye. “But I think there’s a lot more to Robin Andrews than meets the eye.”

  That seemed to please her, which was exactly what he’d intended. He added, “I’d like to get to know the real you.”

  “Then I’m afraid you will have to wait until tomorrow. If you wouldn’t mind, I think I will try to get some sleep. Where would you like me?”

  Oh, God, what a loaded question. Everywhere, Mitch thought. Every which way. But he clamped the lid on his wayward thoughts and answered, “You can bunk in there in my bedroom and I’ll take the sofa.”

  She scanned the length of it as she got up. “You’re too tall for it.”

  “So are you,” he replied with a grin. “Let me suffer. I deserve it for almost hitting on you, right?”

  She laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. Mitch knew she didn’t quite trust him to behave.

  “The door locks,” he told her, and watched her nod. He also didn’t miss the slight exhalation that indicated relief.

  “If you need anything you can’t find in the bathroom—shampoo, extra towels or whatever—just let me know.”

  She met his gaze directly then, without a hint of fear or embarrassment. “Thanks,” she said, her voice a breathy whisper.

  Mitch wondered if he had misconstrued that look of hers as one of interest. Had he misread her altogether? Did she actually want him to make a play for her? Did she expect it of every man? He didn’t know, but he’d bet his favorite A3 track that most every guy got around to it sooner or later.

  She was under his skin. He was smitten, as Granny would say, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it but try to keep his cool and keep his hands off her.

  Surprisingly, she hadn’t kicked up a fuss at all when he had told her that he thought it would be wise for her to stay in his apartment for the night instead of across the hall.

  He followed her to the door of the bedroom. “There are Tshirts in the top drawer over there if you want one to sleep in.”

  Her gaze darted away from his and she was worrying that bottom lip something fierce.

  “What’s the matter, Robin?” he asked.

  She forced her chin up. “This is just a bit awkward. I’ve never slept in a man’s room before. They…always came to mine.”

  “First time for everything,” he said, ushering her on into the bedroom. He knew he ought to stay out of there. He knew it. But he didn’t. “Fresh sheets are stacked on the shelf in the closet. Plenty of pillows,” he said, grabbing one off the bed for himself, “I’ll just take this one.”

  “Okay,” she murmured, and turned at exactly the wrong time. Mitch found himself too close to her. Way too close. She was tall enough that their lips were scant inches apart.

  All he would have to do was lower his head just a little and…

  She quickly backed away and plopped down on the bed, bouncing a little. “Comfy,” she said, a bit too brightly, brushing her hands over the bedspread and giving it a pat.

  “Yeah, I guess. There’s a half bath in there,” he told her, nodding at the closed door. “The only full bath is down the hall, on your right.”

  “Thanks,” she said, her voice almost timid.

  Mitch nodded once and left in a hurry before he forgot why he wasn’t supposed to kiss her. Just in time, too.

  Good thing he’d had a few hours’ sleep today, he thought as he retired to the sofa for the night. He sure as hell wouldn’t be getting any tonight.

  Robin couldn’t imagine what had possessed her to speak so frankly to a virtual stranger. Maybe that was the key. She had always heard it was easier to open up to someone you didn’t know.

  Once James’s murder was solved, she would be able to leave Nashville and there would be no reason on earth why she should ever return. She’d never see Mitch again. In her wildest flight of imagination, she could not picture him, the quintessential Southerner, venturing North to New York. Why ever should he?

  It seemed he had everything any man could want right here. From the way he talked about them, his family was a great part of his life.

  He must be successful at his job, though she couldn’t think anyone would truly enjoy dealing with crimes of violence. Perhaps he did. Some people thrived on solving problems and puzzles, which homicides certainly could be. He must have found a way to block out the unpleasant aspects of his work or else had grown impervious to them. Robin guessed he also must have altruistic reasons for choosing to do what he did. Mitch seemed the type. Someone had to take murderers out of circulation and protect the populace.

  It surprised her that, doing what he did for a living, Mitch was not a bitter man. In fact, he possessed a gentle humor and optimism she had seldom, if ever, encountered in men with comparatively innocuous occupations. Maybe it was a Southern thing.

  She smiled about that as she washed her face and prepared for bed. In the medicine cabinet, Robin located a new toothbrush still in its protective plastic. There were clean, colorful towels and washcloths rolled and handily tucked on a shelf over the commode. Robin removed one and patted her face dry, inhaling the fresh, subtle scent of fabric softener.

  She liked his place. Everything was clean but not scrupulously neat. A bit of clutter only made it looked lived in, comfortable. Friendly. Robin figured she must have arrived several days after the maid had been here.

  Then again, maybe he did his own housework. He certainly could cook. He also did dishes. And he was infinitely proud of this house. She could see why. It would make a lovely home for some lucky woman one of these days. There was a warmth here already that beckoned a person to relax and enjoy it. Or maybe it was just Mitch’s open friendliness that made it seem so.

  While she felt more at ease with him than she should, considering how briefly they had known each other, he also disturbed her in some elemental way.

  He caused a certain, not unpleasant tension inside her that Robin recognized as sexual. That, in itself, was highly unusual. And almost reassuring. She had begun to think she was immune. Maybe she had always tried too desperately to grasp that feeling with James. This attraction to Mitch Winton had taken her totally by surprise.

  Inappropriate as it was, she should mind it, but she didn’t. It would come to nothing, of course, but Robin couldn’t think of a single reason she couldn’t secretly enjoy it while it lasted. Mitch need never know.

  It could very well be something as simple as a delayed adolescent reaction. An infatuation. She’d never had one of those, not on movie idols, rock stars or even a handsome teacher. That’s what came of not attending school the way other girls did, she supposed, never interacting normally with her peers. Never really having the tim
e to fantasize.

  Well, Mitch Winton certainly did fill the bill when it came to fantasy. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, kind when the occasion called for it, and it probably didn’t hurt matters that she was under his protection. Transference, probably.

  Everything about him tantalized her. There was his scent, not totally accounted for by his faintly spicy aftershave. She had to fight the urge to draw closer and breathe more deeply when she was around him. And there was the way he spoke, his voice sending a slow curl of heat through her insides like a deep draught of Irish coffee. Hot, sweet and intoxicating.

  In her own defense, she did try to avoid his touch. That tingling current whenever they connected in the slightest way was altogether too enticing. If she didn’t watch it, she would give herself away.

  Figuratively and literally.

  The thought made her frown at herself in the mirror. “Silly idiot,” she muttered. “Behave.”

  For now she would put her reaction to Mitch into perspective and give it only the momentary attention it deserved. She had far weightier problems to deal with than a belated schoolgirl crush.

  She pulled on a soft, gray T-shirt with a Marine Corps logo nearly faded out of readability on the front. It hung on her slender frame, the folds caressing her bare skin, the loose drape of the knit mocking her lack of musculature and making her dwell on thoughts of his wide shoulders and the expanse of his chest. Robin doubted she would get much rest wearing this thing.

  The soft knock on the bedroom door sent her scurrying out of the bathroom to answer. When she opened it, the object of her ruminations stood there with a glass of milk in his hand.

  “Here you go,” he said. “My recipe for sleep. Guaranteed to work.”

  Robin took it and sipped when he indicated she should. It was delicious. She licked her upper lip and peered up at him. “What is it?”

  “Vanilla milk. Drop or two of flavoring and a spoonful of sugar. Great, huh?” He grinned. “Mama used to add red and blue food coloring, turn it an icky shade of lavender and tell us it came from purple cows. Ever heard that rhyme?”

  She frowned. The man was an alien.